


I Put a Spell on You (Because You're Mine)

by Dancains



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Crossdressing, Halloween, Happy Ending, Kissing with possible dubious consent, M/M, Or technically set before 1x01, Oswald has low self confidence, Past Child Abuse, References to past homophobic bullying/slurs, Season 1 Ed being a love struck dork, Season 1 Oswald being season 1 Oswald, Season/Series 01, This ended up being sappier than intended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-23 02:55:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14323026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancains/pseuds/Dancains
Summary: In another corner of the club, Fish had finished her rounds, and had pulled Harvey by the elbow into her favorite booth so the two of them could properly catch up."So, uh," started Harvey, setting his beer down on the table a few inches away from the drink coaster, "Where's that creepy little umbrella guy of yours...had something better to do on Halloween?"A feline grin spread across Fish's face. "No, Oswald is certainly here tonight. Apparently getting acquainted with your plus-one as we speak." She nodded her head in the direction of Ed and the woman in black seated at a small table across the venue.Harvey nearly choked when he came to the realization. "Holy shit. That's priceless."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Don't ask me why I had the urge to write a Halloween fic in April ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> For the sake of clarity, this is a canon divergent AU and takes place before the pilot episode. This has some POV shifts, which I usually don't write, but hopefully they're clear from the paragraph breaks,
> 
> Also, I made a little playlist of some of the music mentioned so feel free to check that out... (https://8tracks.com/babetclaquesous/i-put-a-spell-on-you-because-you-re-mine) 
> 
> Credit for Ed's riddle goes to Gottaread2 on tumblr, thanks again!!

"Ah, there you are, Oswald. I've been looking for you everywhere. You know I'll need your assistance getting ready for the party tonight."

Oswald turned around sharply, he hadn't heard Fish enter the room. She had caught him perusing the wardrobe of extra clothes and accessories that she kept in her office.

"I'm sorry, Miss Mooney," he began, only to be silenced with an errant gesture of her hand.

"See anything you particularly like?" She asked.

Oswald blinked at her in confusion. Once in a blue moon she would prompt him to choose between two pairs of shoes, or ask him which set of earrings better paired with her dress, and every time he was grateful that she would even consider his tastes worthy enough to be consulted. He supposed this was the same sort of thing.

"You mean for you to wear to tonight's party? But you already had that outfit made--which, of course, looks exquisite."

The costume in question was already fitted over a dress form that sat in the corner of the office, ready for Fish to don before the event. It was an ornate ensemble, embellished with real peacock feathers. A matching masquerade style mask sat on her desk, both having been custom made to her specifications, and for a pretty penny too.

She laughed, the sound like a tinkling bell. "No, not for me to wear. I'm just curious about your tastes, I suppose."

"Oh." said Oswald. He wondered if this was some sort of test, or possibly a sign of Fish's gradual growing respect for him. "Hmm..." He let his fingers trail the array of expensive garments. A black dress caught his eye, something he had never seen Fish wear before. He held it out in front to show it to her.

"Well, I think this is, um, very chic. The sleeves especially." He hoped that was the sort of thing he was supposed to say.

Her hand came to her chin, as if she was giving the dress serious consideration. "You know what just occurred to me?"

"What, Miss Mooney?"

"You don't have a costume for the Halloween party," she replied matter-of-factly.

"I-" he began to stutter, "I thought you said they weren't required, that black tie was fine for guests who decided to forego a costume."

"I hope I don't need to remind you that you're not a guest, but my employee."

"Of course, Ms. Mooney. I didn't mean to imply otherwise." 

She didn't seem to be listening, too preoccupied wheeling the free standing full-length mirror she kept against the wall to the spot in front of him. He was met with the sight of his reflection, still holding the dress in front of himself, as if sizing up how it would look if he were to put it on. 

"Are you trying to suggest...?" Oswald was afraid to finish the question.

"Wait, let me get the finishing touch. How fun, why didn't I think of this ages ago?" she hummed to herself. Plucking a long black wig from one of the mannequin heads in her wardrobe, she came to stand by Oswald and carefully fitted it over his head. Studying the reflection, he had to admit it had a staggering effect on his appearance. 

"I'm still..." Oswald chose his words carefully. "I'm not sure I could properly pull this off."

"We won't know until we see the entire look, will we Oswald?" she asked, simultaneously sweet but threatening.

He swallowed. "That is true."

"Good." She pulled the wig away and ushered him behind the Japanese screen that she often used for changing. Digging through the drawers of her wardrobe, she found a pair of dark pantyhose and slung them over the side of the screen, as he began reluctantly shrugging off his suit.

"Now where did I put my make up kit?" she murmured to herself.

 

 

The club was larger than what Ed had been expecting, filled to the brim with well dressed patrons, some of their outfits with just enough of a theme to them to constitute as costumes, though certainly nothing from a cheap party store. Ed was glad Detective Bullock had given him the pointer about just wearing a suit. 

Even if, at some level, he was aware that Bullock had invited him out of formality, or had possibly even been guilted into it by Captain Essen, he was glad to be doing something on Halloween other than staying home and watching horror movies until he fell asleep on the couch. Ed followed the detective through the crowd, in the general direction of a stage where a live band was playing.

He tapped Bullock insistently on the shoulder when he saw something that caught his eye.

"We should get our fortunes read!" he insisted, pointing to the curtained-off corner of the club that had been designated for a hired psychic to do tarot card readings.

"You know, Nygma, of all people, you're the last one I'd expect to take any stock in that sort of thing."

"Oh, I certainly don't--in fact, I think it's hilarious. It's free, so I might as well hear what they have to say, just to confirm it's complete nonsense."

Harvey shrugged. "Knock yourself out, kid. But truth be told, I've been to some of these gals before--and I mean the real good ones, not the hacks--and they can tell you some serious shit about yourself."

Ed did his best not to roll his eyes. "I'm glad such logical minds are keeping the streets of Gotham safe, detective." Seeing another party guest leave the booth, he strode forward and ducked into the curtained entrance. 

Blinking in the low light, he was greeted by an elderly, white-haired woman, wearing a glittering gown and decorative turban. Of course, thought Ed to himself. 

She asked him to shuffle the deck himself, all the while she made polite small talk. Ed knew she was trying to fish personal information out of him that she could use in the reading, so he answered as noncommittally as he could without being rude. He handed the cards back to her when he was done, and she pulled the top three from the pile, laying them side by side in the center of the table.

Ed couldn't help but scoff as she gave him a reading for each, the information she was seemingly extracting from the cards growing increasingly vague and ridiculous. 

"You will soon meet a mysterious, dark haired man who will change your life," she said, as she tapped one long nail on the third and final card.

He squinted at her, then down at the tarot card. "But it says 'the lovers'? Surely, that can't be right."

She raised an eyebrow, as if daring him to argue further. "I'm just telling you what the cards have told me."

Ed laughed. "Sure, of course. Thank you for your services," he told her with an edge of sarcasm, making a point to ignore the tip jar on his way out.

As soon as he had left the booth, a woman wearing an intricate costume-dress and mask caught sight of Harvey, and waved them over to where she had been talking with another woman.

"Fish!" Harvey smoothed his hair back self consciously as they approached. "Might I say that you look particularly lovely this evening." Ed suspected that she was the reason his beard was trimmed so neatly.

"Harvey, you old fox," she greeted him warmly, patting him on the cheek. "It's been too long, we certainly need to catch up."

Ed felt himself distracted from the conversation as he noticed the younger woman standing next to Harvey's acquaintance, clad in a more modest dress with long lace sleeves. 

She eyed him curiously from under the short veil of the fascinator that was pinned to her hair; her bright, pale eyes were dramatically accentuated by the dark make up around them. The entire ensemble, black on black, gave the effect that she was dressed for a funeral. From just a glance, Ed thought she was breathtaking. 

Harvey elbowed him. "Ed, this is Fish Mooney, our hostess tonight, and the proprietor of this fine establish. Fish...Edward Nygma." He gestured between them.

Ed extended his hand. "How do you do, ma'am?" 

She gave him a firm handshake, faintly amused. "No need to call me ma'am, Miss Mooney will do just fine, dear. And may I introduce my personal assistant--Olivia."

 

 

Oswald blinked, belatedly realizing that Fish was referring to him. He had been worried that the police detective would recognize him--he had certainly seen Oswald many times at the club before--but Bullock seemed to only have eyes for Fish, or more specially, how Fish was practically poured into her tight, feather-covered gown. He barely spared "Olivia" a polite nod.

In stark contrast, the man with the glasses--named Ed, apparently--hadn't taken his eyes off of Oswald the entire time. 

He panicked for a second when Ed tried to shake his hand, having the irrational thought that his grip or the light callouses on his palm would give him away. Remembering a customary gesture of his mother's, he extended his hand palm down, fingers slightly bent.

"Oh." Acting on the cue after a brief moment of hesitation, Ed took his hand and bent forward to press a quick kiss to one of Oswald's knuckles.

Despite the fact that he had initiated it, the intimacy of the gesture still brought a heat to Oswald's face, hopefully masked by the heavy powder Fish had applied to it. He avoided Ed's gaze as he pulled away.

"Olivia, dear," Fish put a motherly hand on Oswald's shoulder, "there are some important business acquaintances I need to introduce Detective Bullock to. Perhaps you could keep his colleague some company for the evening." Before Oswald could say anything, Fish and Bullock had departed, disappearing into the club's thrumming crowd. He didn't miss the encouraging gesture Bullock had non-so-subtly given Ed before they departed.

"I'm sorry," said Ed, wringing his hands, 'I'm sure there are other people here you'd rather be talking to. I can get out of your hair, if you want."

Oswald knew the smart thing to do would have been to take this easy out, but something about the man's demeanor made him waver. He did his best to put on a soft, feminine inflection. "No, there's not anyone...I mean, I really don't mind. Would you like to sit down somewhere?"

Ed perked up, obviously surprised. "Yes, I would, very much so," he stuttered.

He followed Oswald to a table, and eagerly pulled out the chair for him. "Would you like me to get you anything to drink?" Ed asked once he had sat down. 

Oswald had already downed a few flutes of sparkling champagne when the party had started, trying to quell the nervousness that his forcibly donned costume had brought on. Now he thought to himself that, more than anything, he'd like a vodka on the rocks, but he wasn't sure if that was the sort of thing "Olivia" would drink. He saw a woman dressed as a devil pass by with an orange colored mixed drink in hand. 

"Okay. Maybe one of those special drinks they're doing for Halloween--it's called a pumpkin-something-or-other, I believe," Oswald requested, tilting his head coyly.

"Sure thing! I'll be right back." 

Oswald watched his tall, retreating figure make a bee-line towards the bar. He had a feeling the night was going to possibly end in an unmitigated disaster.

At the same time, he couldn't remember a single time in his life where a man had shown this much interest in him. Ed hadn't known him for a full five minutes and already seemed to be putty in his hands--it was like something out of one of his most embarrassing daydreams. At the very least, Oswald would get a bit of entertainment for the night, and then eventually find the right opportunity to slip back into Fish's office to change and go home.

He adjusted his wig, wishing he had a hand mirror, before Ed returned with a drink in each hand. 

"A spiced pumpkin punch, for the young lady," he said, putting the drink down with a flourish before sitting down across from Oswald. The word "lady" made Oswald go still for a second, before he realized there wasn't so much as a hint of sarcasm behind it.

"Thank you." He batted his eyelashes, hoping it wasn't overkill. "What's that one?" he asked, nodding to Ed's drink, something in a martini glass that was a frankly alarming shade of green.

"A witch's brew, apparently. I just liked the color."

"Hmm, I can see that," Oswald said, gesturing to Ed's tie--a pattern of bright green spider webs that he had paired with an even louder green dress shirt. Kitsch would have been a polite word for it.

"I wanted to be festive," Ed smiled obliviously.

"You certainly succeeded." Oswald took a long sip from his drink, savoring the warm hint of cinnamon. "I dressed up too," he whispered conspiratorially. "I'm a witch."

Ed contemplated him over his glass. "I wouldn't say your costume's very accurate."

Oswald's blood ran cold. "And why is that?" he asked carefully.

'Well, historically, witches are often portrayed as grotesque and unappealing. If it's not too forward for me to say so...you're much too beautiful to be a witch."

Oswald blinked, taken aback. That was something he had certainly never been called before. "Are all cops this sweet, or is it just you?"

"Oh, goodness, I'm not actually a police officer--I'm in forensics."

"Sounds interesting. What's that like?" 

Ed pursed his lips. "Most people who ask me about my job...seem to regret asking me afterwards. It's a little morbid."

Oswald couldn't help but laugh quietly. "Try me. You'd be surprised by what I'm interested in." Feeling daring, he leaned forward and plucked the maraschino cherry from Ed's cocktail, and popped it into his own mouth. It was something he had seen in an old film once.

Ed's jaw dropped just slightly, his eyes lingering on Oswald's lips. "Okay," he swallowed, before launching into a description of his job, and an exceedingly detailed play-by-play of some of the more gruesome crime scenes he had recently worked on--apparently, there was something about the month of October that seemed to bring out the worst of an already grisly place like Gotham.

 

 

In another corner of the club, Fish had finished her rounds, and had pulled Harvey by the elbow into her favorite booth so the two of them could properly catch up.

"So, uh," started Harvey, setting his beer down on the table a few inches away from the drink coaster, "where's that creepy little umbrella guy of yours...had something better to do on Halloween?"

A feline grin spread across Fish's face. "No, Oswald is certainly here tonight. Apparently getting acquainted with your plus-one as we speak." She nodded her head in the direction of Ed and the woman in black seated at a small table across the venue.

Harvey nearly choked when he came to the realization. "Holy shit. That's priceless."

 

 

Of course, Oswald thought, out of all of the guys who could have become fixated with him, it was the one who rallied off fun facts about corpse decomposition rate as if it was as casual as the weather. 

One of the recent cases Ed had described had actually been a hit put out by Fish, on a former employee of hers who had turned out to be a mole planted by Don Maroni. Oswald had passed on the order himself. The memory almost escaping his lips, he quickly corrected himself to say that it reminded him of a mystery book he had read, this comment accidentally steering Ed into some long, rambling tangent about the inaccuracies in popular crime fiction.

Oswald idly wondered if it would eventually be beneficial for him to have someone like Ed as an inside connection in the GCPD, the same way that Fish seemed to have Detective Bullock wrapped around her finger. The idea had no practical value though, there was no way he was maintaining any relationship with this man, professional or otherwise, after this single night.

Ed suddenly paused. "I'm sorry. I've been... _incredibly_ rude."

"What?" Oswald blinked.

"Here I am, just incessantly blabbering on and on at you..." He ran his fingers through his hair nervously, mussing the neatly parted style. 

"I wouldn't say that, " Oswald protested. "Anyway, I liked listening to you talk." Truthfully, it had felt easier for Oswald to maintain his charade when Ed had been unintentionally dominating the conversation.

"Still, I...what about you? Do you enjoy working with Miss Mooney?"

Oswald answered him honestly. "For the most part, yes. It's a bit grueling--you probably don't know this, but she's a big name in this city, someone not be reckoned with. As you can imagine, she has high expectations for an assistant. I don't always like Fish, but I certainly respect her."

Ed nodded thoughtfully at this revelation. "Do you have any plans for the future?"

Oswald certainly had plans--distant dreams of complete underworld power, of Don Falcone himself bending to kiss Oswald's ring the same way Ed has earlier kissed his hand. If Oswald hadn't had the old mafioso killed yet, of course.

"I suppose to stay on here, as long as I find necessary," he said in answer to Ed, "and to eventually run my own club. Ideally, I'd like to own more businesses than that, to have a real stake in this town."

"Ambition." Ed held his glass out in a toast, "I'll drink to that."

Oswald smiled to himself, clinking glasses. "You know, in this line of work, I don't get much of a chance to meet men like you."

Ed's eyebrows peeked up above the frames of his glasses. "Men like...what am I like?" 

Oswald absently trailed a finger across the back of Ed's hand where it sat on the table, ruminating on how devilishly easy it was to pluck at his heart strings. "Intelligent...kind. You should see the brutes that Miss Mooney hires to work as muscle here, from the sounds of it, they'd get along just fine with some of your more unsavory coworkers." He cast his eyes down towards the table, as if embarrassed, "They're not always as respectful towards me as they could be." 

Technically, it wasn't a lie. Oswald had practically lost count of how many times Butch or one of his cronies had made some cruel retort about his stature, or his appearance, or general demeanor. Ed had apparently interpreted the comment somewhat differently.

He could see Ed go tense immediately, the grip on his glass going white-knuckled. "That's-that's horrible," he spluttered. "Someone like you shouldn't be treated like that. If I were there I would...I would put a stop to that." He gently took Oswald's hand in his, holding it like something delicate.

Realistically, the idea of Ed jumping in and protecting his virtue like some white knight was completely laughable. Gilzean, or any of Fish's other men, could undoubtedly rip him in two. Oswald himself could probably take Ed in a fight, he thought, if somehow that situation arose.

Still, the complete earnestly in Ed's gaze sent a strange feeling to the pit of Oswald's stomach. Treacherously, a voice in the back of his head wondered which of them was really was pulling at heart strings. Forcing himself back into character, he tried to decide how to respond.

"I don't know what to say...thank you. I suppose I'm not used to guys being this nice to me."

Ed squeezed his hand. "Well, you should get used to it."

Oswald stared back, almost letting himself forget the reality of the situation. He wondered if something his mother had once said about the full moon making strange things happen really held some truth to it. 

"I can be in a line. I can be in a square. I can be done alone or something you share. Sometimes slow, but can pick up speed. One may follow another’s lead. For some I may be used to enthrall. For others I may simply be a ball. What am I?"

"I'm sorry, what?" asked Oswald.

"It's a riddle. I meant, um-"

Oswald put up one finger to silence him. "Dancing. That's the answer. Are you asking me to dance?"

Ed's looked stunned, his eyes shining with delight. "Yes," he breathed.

"Alright." Oswald pushed himself out of his chair. Tottering awkwardly in the low heels that Fish had insisted upon, he was reluctantly grateful when Ed linked their arms. He wondered if he looked drunk. Oswald certainly wasn't a lightweight, but perhaps "Olivia" was.

Ed lead him towards the dance floor, just as the band transitioned into an upbeat rock song.

"Is this okay, if I, um-" Ed's hands hovered at Oswald's waist. Instead of answering, Oswald wrapped his arms Ed's neck, loosely clasping them in the back. Growing more confident, Ed put placed his hands solidly on Oswald's body. Oswald was surprised by how comfortable it felt.

Recognizing the song, he mouthed the lyrics as they swayed to the beat, more out of habit than on purpose.

"Do you know this song?" Ed asked conversationally.

"Yeah, it's by the Ramones." His glasses weren't the only things stuck in the 50's, Oswald thought to himself.

Ed furrowed his brow, leaning forward just slightly. "I'm sorry, I can't hear you over the music..."

It wasn't surprising, considering how soft he was trying to make his voice. He leaned up on his toes to repeat himself, murmuring close Ed's ear.

Ed completely stilled for just a second, as if forgetting the music, before Oswald pulled back and picked up the rhythm again.

"Oh," was Ed's only reply to Oswald's observations. He looked as if he was concentrating, maybe listening to the lyrics.

_"I don't want to be buried in a Pet Sematary...I don't want to live my life again..."_

Ed leaned in closer, even though Oswald had been able to hear him fine before.

"I didn't know that the Ramones wrote songs about Stephen King novels."

"There's a lot of things that might surprise you," Oswald replied smoothly, finding himself unable to resist the double entendre. 

Ed laughed good naturedly. "I'm sure you're right."

They danced, occasionally making whispered asides, until the music shifted into something poppy and retro. While his punk repertoire was lacking, Ed seemed to at least recognize the Searchers' "Love Potion No. 9."

"Do you know how to do a box step?" Ed asked him.

Oswald nodded. His mother had loved teaching him, and they had passed many rainy afternoons dancing to Gertrud's content, the sound of her phonograph crackling in the background. 

Ed eased out of Oswald's grasp, instead locking their fingers together with one hand and leaving the other on Oswald's waist. Recognizing the stance, Oswald moved his free hand to Ed's shoulder. 

"I think you're, um, trying to lead," said Ed, after a few moments.

"Oh," Oswald laughed nervously, "Sorry." He had been so concerned about whether or not his palm was sweaty that muscle memory had kicked in.

"No, that's fine."

"You know, you're pretty good at this," said Oswald, in an attempt to change the subject. "You must have been quite the popular guy at senior prom."

He saw Ed grimace, before quickly smothering it in a self deprecating smile. "No, I...I didn't go, actually."

"Oh. Me neither," Oswald shrugged.

"I find that very hard to believe. I bet the boys were lining up to ask you."

Oswald shook his head. "No. No, they certainly were not."

"Well, I'm especially glad I asked you to dance, then."

Oswald felt his breath catch in his throat as he looked up into the softness of Ed's dark eyes. Suddenly, it came over him like a bucket of water that nothing Ed was saying was really about him, but about some imaginary woman he was concocting in his mind. 

He silently cursed Fish for her cruel little party trick--for her whole damned existence--even though, deep down, he knew it was his own fault that he had gotten too wrapped up in it all. Resolutely, he decided that he would stay for one more dance, then find some excuse to slip away. It was nearing to midnight, and the ironic fairy tale connection hadn't been missed by him.

"Are you-? Is there something on my face?"

Oswald realized that he had been staring blankly at Ed. "No!...No, I was just thinking...you have a really cute chin."

Ed giggled nervously, slightly taken aback. "Thank you, I suppose," he paused. "I like your nose."

Oswald eyed him with suspicion. "You better not be making fun of me."

"No, I swear. You have a really striking profile."

Oswald sighed, resting his head on Ed's chest as they began swaying to a slower, more languid song. He felt wide awake, but at the same time almost lulled into some dream like haze by the music and the pleasant, solid heat of Ed's body against his. Maybe he was more intoxicated than he had previously thought.. 

 _"I put a spell on you...because you're mine...You better stop the things that you're doin' I said, 'Watch out, I ain't lyin', yeah..."_ the band singer crooned, backed by what seemed to be a church organ. It all sounded very far away to Oswald.

"The lights in here are beautiful," he heard Ed murmur wistfully. The entire club was dim, but partially lit by elegant strings of purple lights strung through the upper railings, along with an assortment of paper lanterns that hung from the ceiling and looked as if they were merely floating in air.

Oswald looked up at him. "The view's even better from upstairs."

"Really?" It sounded like a challenge.

Feeling giddy, Oswald broke away from him and took Ed's hand, guiding him off the dance floor. They made their exodus through drunken party guests until they reached a staircase in a far corner, blocked off with a velvet rope.

"Employees only," he murmured to Ed, pulling it aside so they could ascend the stairs. They shared a conspiratorial grin.

When they had made it to the top, they paused to look over the banister at the party, Ed's hand resting lightly on Oswald's shoulder. Oswald couldn't resist snuggling just a bit closer to Ed's side. He pointed at the twirling couples on the dance floor, "It's harder to see from down there, but the floor tiles are in the pattern of a fish skeleton, like the club's logo."

Ed made a thoughtful noise, nodding. Above them, they could see the full moon through the club's skylight.

"What are these rooms up here for?" Ed asked with genuine curiosity, when he eventually noticed the row of doors behind them. Oswald opened one to show him, somewhat surprised it was unlocked. Inside it had the appearance of a plush hotel room. 

"Miss Mooney keeps these rooms up here for...various purposes. Sometimes she rents them out after events like this." Oswald closed the door behind them. "We're not really supposed to be in here," he laughed in explanation. He had been so annoyed with Fish that it felt good to be doing something without her permission.

Ed turned to him, his gaze intense. "You know, you were right...the view is lovely from up here."

It sent a shiver down Oswald's spine. Was this the same odd, nervous man he had been introduced to at the beginning of the night?

Ed slowly leaned in towards him, tilting his head before pressing their lips together in a chaste kiss. Oswald couldn't help but open his mouth against Ed's in a small gasp. As he began to pull away, Oswald buried his hand's in Ed's lapels, dragging him back into the kiss. He could taste the sharp peppermint of Ed's drink on his tongue. The back of his head bumped against the door behind him as Ed surged forward.

"Are you okay?" Ed murmured, breath warm against his cheek. 

"Mhh hm." Oswald tried to kiss him again, their noses bumping clumsily before they found the right angle. He heard a groan from deep in Ed's throat, the sound of it setting the heat in his own belly alight. It came over him all at once desperately he had wanted this, how hungry he had been for it. He knotted his fingers tightly in Ed's tie, unintentionally loosening it as they kissed. Ed held him tightly at the waist, his hands venturing slightly further up Oswald's sides.

Oswald was embarrassed by the high, keening noises that escaped his lips as Ed trailed his mouth downward, kissing and biting at the skin under his jawline, then past the choker necklace Oswald was wearing, to press his lips to the pale skin just above the neckline of Oswald's dress.

"Stop," Oswald gasped, reluctantly loosening his grip, "We can't- we shouldn't be doing this."

Ed immediately pulled away, drawing his hands back as if he had been burned. In other circumstances, the exaggerated panic on his face, paired with the dark lipstick that was now smeared around his mouth, might have been comical.

"I am so, so sorry if I've crossed a-any, any sort of boundary of yours. I realize we've both been drinking, and the last thing on earth I want to do is take advantage of-"

He stopped mid-sentence when he realized Oswald was laughing. 

"That's that last thing that's going on here," rasped Oswald, almost delirious. "If anyone's taking advantage here, it's me. I shouldn't have let you kiss me--I was taking it too far."

"What..." Ed looked thoroughly confused. "What do mean?"

Looking him dead in the eye, Oswald pulled off the wig in one almost-fluid motion, cringing slightly as the copious bobby pins tugged at his real hair.

"You...you have short hair?"

"No, you handsome idiot," Oswald shouted, his voice returning to it's natural register, "I'm a man!"

Ed's eyes went as wide as saucers. He looked Oswald up and down, as if seeing him for the first time, while it finally sank in. "Fuck," he whispered.

It was a far cry from his earlier "oh my's" and "Oh goodnesses".

"I've never even dressed like this before!" said Oswald. "It was my boss' idea--something for her amusement. I never thought that...that...any guy would look twice at me. And it was easier to play along." He could feel his own adrenaline pumping, his hand going to the door handle just in case Ed made some move to hurt him. He had realized during the kiss that he was probably stronger than he looked.

Ed just stared at him, hurt written across his features. "So everything you said to me was a lie?"

"What?" Oswald shot back. "I mean...everything I told you was true. It was a lie of omission, if anything."

"So you really didn't go to prom?" 

"What-" Oswald spluttered, "What are you talking about? No! No, I didn't go to prom! You know why? All the other boys were too busy shoving me in lockers and calling me a faggot to ask!"

Ed looked as if he had been struck across the face. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't you apologize to me. I'm the one who was wasting your time. Good night, Ed." he turned the door handle, making to leave.

"No, wait, please," Ed put a tentative hand on his shoulder.

Oswald looked down at it suspiciously.

"I think I...I still like you," said Ed imploringly.

"Please," Oswald hissed, "Don't be patronizing. I don't want your pity."

"It's not pity, I swear."

Now Oswald was taken by surprise.

"Could I kiss you again?" Ed asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Oswald thought that one could have heard a pin drop in that moment. 

He leaned up on his toes, meeting Ed half way. He felt ed cup his jaw with one hand, the other going to the short, soft hair at the back of his neck; the kiss was gentle and more tentative then the last. 

When they moved apart, Oswald expected to see some sort of revulsion, perhaps a cringe of disgust, but he only saw Ed, his glasses slightly askew and the faint smudge of lipstick still imprinted on his lips. He could hear them both breathing.

Ed licked his lips. "I suppose your name isn't Olivia..."

Oswald laughed shakily. No. No, it's-"

They both suddenly flinched, hearing a barrage of loud noises from somewhere in the building.

"I think those were gunshots," whispered Ed.

"Shit," Oswald murmured. It was something Fish had been worried about, that Maroni and his people might uses her party as an opportunity for a counter strike. Falcone thought that wouldn't he have dared, not with the amount of civilians that would be present. He had been mistaken. 

"We should get out of here," said Oswald. 

"How?"

Oswald spotted the window on the other side of the room."

"The fire escape. Come on." He dragged Ed by the arm.

"You know what I just realized?" Ed asked in daze, letting himself be ushered across the room.

Oswald managed to get the window open. "What?" he snapped.

"The fortune teller was right."

Oswald practically pushed him out of the window, thankfully onto a rusting fire escape. "That's nice. Now please help me, I don't know if I can do this in heels."

By the time they had made it down to the alley next to the bar, a squadron of cop cars had pulled in front, seemingly already making arrests and clearing off the area. Ed peered his head around the corner.

"Nygma! There you are!" Bullock rushed over to him. "Looks like you're not getting Halloween after all, we both need to head down to the station and..." He trailed off as he took in Ed's state of disarray, his eyebrows practically going to his hairline. "Weren't you wearing a tie earlier?" he smirked.

Ed's hands went to his throat. Looking over his shoulder, he realized that the man he had been with had disappeared into the night.

Less than twenty four hours later, the club looked no different than when he had first arrived at the party, not a single trace was left of the gang shootout that had taken place there the night before.

Ed wiped his sweating palm on the back of his second best suit, and checked that the bouquet of flowers he was holding still looked bright and fresh before making his way into the club. As he expected, there wasn't much of a crowd on a Monday night, especially after what had recently occurred there. 

The club was stripped of it's halloween decor, but was still filled with an old school sort of glamour, the way the city might have looked long ago. Ed felt his heart skip a beat as noticed the only person sitting at the bar, a man with tousled black hair, his back turned to Ed.

Steeling himself for the chance of rejection, he finally approached the man. Ed cleared his throat to get his attention.

The man dropped the pen he had been writing with. "Ed? I didn't think you would-"

Ed took in his appearance. He looked different with a bare face and a suit, but he was still utterly striking. His eyes had the same magnetic effect they seemed to have on Ed the night before.

"I'm glad you kept the tie. Frankly, I think it looks better on you," said Ed.

The man glanced down at the necktie, as if he had forgotten he was wearing it. "I had meant to give it back to you. I...are those for me?"

Ed held out the flowers. "When the lady at the shop asked me what name to put on the little card, I didn't know what to tell her."

The man let out a half choked laugh. "Maybe we should try this all again." He got up from the bar stool, standing directly in front of Ed. "My name is Oswald Cobblepot. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Ed extended his hand. "Edward. Nygma. Likewise."

Instead of shaking it, Oswald pressed his lips to the back of Ed's hand in a familiar kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't originally sure how to end this fic and I toyed with a couple different endings, so here's a different (E rated) one! (which grew much longer than I expected). Hopefully it's clear from where it picks up near the end of the last chapter. I've also updated the tags accordingly so keep those in mind.
> 
> Also, if anyone was curious, this is how I picture Oswald's dress and hair accessory... https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/1493/3926/products/product-hugerect-861964-216547-1481606794-ff2502fd59f2ebe924c7ef0ae0e19efb_1024x1024.jpg?v=1505723314 + https://images1.dawandastatic.com/Product/24286/24286009/big/1320143470-627.jpg

Ed turned to him, his gaze intense. "You know, you were right...the view is lovely from up here."

 It sent a shiver down Oswald's spine. Was this the same odd, nervous man he had been introduced to at the beginning of the night?

 Ed slowly leaned in towards him, tilting his head before pressing their lips together in a chaste kiss. Oswald couldn't help but open his mouth against Ed's in a small gasp. As he began to pull away, Oswald buried his hand's in Ed's lapels, dragging him back into the kiss. The back of his head bumped against the door behind him as Ed surged forward again.

"Are you okay?" Ed murmured, breath warm against Oswald's cheek.

 "Mhh hm." Oswald tried to kiss him again, their noses bumping clumsily before they found the right angle. He heard a groan from deep in Ed's throat, the sound of it setting the heat in his own belly alight. It came over him all at once desperately he had wanted this, how hungry he had been for it. He knotted his fingers tightly in Ed's tie, unintentionally loosening it as they kissed. Ed held him tightly at the waist, his hands venturing slightly further up Oswald's sides.

 Oswald was embarrassed by the high, keening noises that escaped his lips as Ed trailed his mouth downward, kissing and biting at the skin under his jawline, then past the choker necklace Oswald was wearing, to press his lips to the pale skin just above the neckline of Oswald's dress.

 "Stop," Oswald gasped, reluctantly loosening his grip, "We can't- we shouldn't be doing this."

 Ed immediately pulled away, drawing his hands back as if he had been burned. In other circumstances, the exaggerated panic on his face, paired with the dark lipstick that was now smeared around his mouth, might have been comical.

 "I am so, so sorry if I've crossed a-any, any sort of boundary of yours. I realize we've both been drinking, and the last thing on earth I want to do is take advantage of-"

 He stopped mid-sentence when he realized Oswald was laughing. 

 "That's that last thing that's going on here," rasped Oswald, almost delirious. "If anyone's taking advantage here, it's me. I shouldn't have let you kiss me--I was taking it too far."

 "Why do you say that?"

 Oswald's smile was somewhere between mean and self-deprecating. "Let's just say that you probably won't like what you see when you take my dress off." He had let his voice drop back to its natural register. 

He could see Ed's Adam's apple bobbing as he audibly swallowed. "Try me. You might...be surprised by what I'm interested in."

 Oswald recognized his words from earlier that night, being thrown back at him in the very last way that he would ever expect. Ed knew, he realized. Had possibly known all night.

 Ed stayed stock still as he prowled towards him. Oswald poked him in the chest accusingly. "Is this some sort of fetish of yours?"

 "No!" Ed stuttered, "I mean, maybe, I don't know. Is it yours?"

 "What? I'll have you know I've never even dressed like this before. It was only for Halloween!"

Their faces were only inches apart again. Ed looked dazed. "Well, as it happens, Halloween isn't over yet," he said. He licked his lips nervously.

Oswald could read between the lines, hear the tentative question behind the statement. He eyed Ed's lips. "Have you ever even been with a man before?"

 Ed shook his head. "Ive- I've thought about it before." He said it as if it was some unspeakable secret. Oswald hated himself for the way it made his toes curl. 

 He didn't know what to say to that, so instead, he pulled the wig from his head in one fluid motion, letting it drop to the floor.

 Blinking, Ed lifted one hand, cupping Oswald's jaw and running his thumb along the sharp plane of his cheek, before moving it to card his fingers through Oswald's short hair, which was in no doubt wild disarray. The touch was so achingly tender that Oswald had to fight the urge to let his eyes flutter closed.

 Instead, he pulled Ed by the back of the neck into a kiss, messy and more heated than the first one. Ed was more adept at it then Oswald would have expected, kissing him back with same urgency. He groaned when Ed pressed his tongue between the seam of his lips, exploring Oswald's mouth. In turn, he let his free hand travel down the firm plane of his chest. 

 He let it drift lower, and cupped Ed where he was already partially hard in his slacks. He felt Ed jerk his hips into the touch, the grip on Oswald's shoulders going painfully tight.

 "We should-" Ed grunted, "we should lock the door."

 Oswald stroked him through the fabric. "I already did." He paused his ministrations to tug at Ed's suit jacket, helping him to take it off. It crumpled to the floor, joining the wig. 

 "Can I pick you up?" Ed asked, as Oswald leaned in again to try and capture his mouth.

 Oswald laughed, the sound dry and raspy. "I'm not sure if you cou-"

 Before he could finish Ed had his arms around Oswald's middle, lifting him off the floor. Oswald wrapped his legs tightly around Ed's hips, if only to stop himself from falling on his ass. 

 In no small effort, Ed trudged the last few steps to the bed, dropping Oswald on his back onto the plush comforter. Oswald laughed again, incredulously. Sitting up, he grabbed Ed by the shirt front to pull him down on to himself. They locked lips again, Ed situated between Oswald's bent legs. 

He straightened up, "Let me get these for you..." 

 Oswald's hand went down instinctively to flatten his skirt as Ed took his leg in hand and gently tugged the high heeled shoe off. He smoothed his hand exploringly from Oswald's ankle to his knee, apparently unbothered that Oswald's legs were unshaven under the thin hosiery. He set it down to do the same for the other one.

 "What a gentleman," Oswald murmured, his face thoroughly flushed.

 Ed smiled, looking thoroughly pleased with himself, and toed off his own dress shoes. 

 Oswald wagged his finger teasingly when Ed leaned in towards him again. "Take that off, first," he gestured to Ed's shirt.

 Slightly surprised but immediately compliant, Ed unbuttoned it, gradually revealing lean, sinewy muscle.

 Sitting up on his elbows, Oswald watched with undisguised appreciation. He was built just the way Oswald liked.

 He had fooled around a little with guys in high school, had been talked into giving hand jobs (and one very poorly executed blow job) behind the bleachers, but he hadn't done anything serious like this. Knowing it was undoubtedly a one time thing, he wanted to get the most out of it that he possibly could.

 Oswald scooted back on the bed so Ed could kneel between his legs. Finally, Oswald felt Ed work his hand up his thigh, under the thick tulle netting of the skirt that had mostly been hiding the jut of his erection.

 "Maybe I'm not as much of a gentlemen as you thought," said Ed lowly, before pushing up the skirt completely to stroke Oswald's twitching cock through his briefs and pantyhose. Oswald whined at the unexpected touch, throwing his head back. Ed covered Oswald's body with his own, pulling off Oswald's necklace so he could mouth at his neck. 

 Desperate for more friction, Oswald blindly grabbed the curves of Ed's ass with both hands, grinding their hips together. 

 "Fuck," Ed choked into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, any of his earlier reservations seemingly thrown out the window. He was rock hard against Oswald's own length. "God, that's good," he whispered in awe. 

 Oswald wondered how long he had thought about men without ever giving in to the desire, if he had guiltily paged through magazines like Oswald once had, or if he even snuck illicit glances in The GCPD locker room. The thought was hotter than it should have been.

 He ran his hands up Ed's back, trying to feel as much of him as he could. Ed stiffened as Oswald's fingers brushed over what felt like a deep healed scar, not just one but a cluster of them. Oswald kissed his deeply, and Ed starting moving against him as if nothing had happened.

 Using all his weight, Oswald flipped them so they were both on their sides, so he could more easily snake a hand in between them to unzip Ed's trousers. 

"Yes, please...please," Ed pleaded against his cheek, glasses knocked completely askew, as Oswald tugged him out of his boxer-briefs and started working him with his fist. The hitching noises that Oswald was drawing from him almost sounded like sobs. He was bigger than any of the guys Oswald had done this with before. None of them had wanted to kiss him either. He tried not to think about that.

 "Let me-" Ed begged, pulling down Oswald's tights and briefs so he could do the same for him. Oswald hadn't realized how uncomfortable the panty hose had been, practically pinning his cock to his stomach. He hissed in relief as Ed wrapped a shaking hand around him, the motion clumsy but enthusiastic. They kissed, languid and open mouthed and panting, their knuckles occasionally chafing against each other. 

 "Do you wanna fuck me?" Oswald whispered into Ed's ear. Ed jerked his hips sharply into Oswald's grip, and for a second Oswald thought he was going to come. 

 "Fuck...can I?" Ed stuttered in disbelief, "have you ever done that before?"

 Oswald nodded. I wasn't exactly a lie--he had spent enough time with the rounded handle of a hairbrush and a stolen jar of Vaseline (as recently as the night before, even) to know he liked penetration. It was easier than explaining that all to Ed.

 "There should be an, um, "intimacy kit" in the bedside drawer, like they have in hotels sometimes" he told Ed, air quotes and all, "I mean, if you want to." 

 Ed was up in less than a second, rifling through the drawer. He drew out a small sealed box from it and ripped the plastic wrap with his teeth. Oswald watched him, the flat lines of his body and the curve of his erection, perfectly silhouetted by the window behind him; the city's lights pouring in were the only illumination in the room. 

 This wasn't exactly how Oswald had planned for this to happen, but he didn't have any regrets. Even if Ed tried to forget about it, wrote it off as some drunken discretion the next day, or an experiment to satisfy an unwanted urge, Oswald wanted to savor it. He repositioned himself so he was in the center of the bed.

 Ed passed him one of the packets of lubricant. He watched, enraptured, as Oswald eased off the panty hose, the small black briefs coming off with them.

 "Well, are you going to put that on?" Oswald jerked his chin towards the condom in Ed's. He nodded, clumsily shuffling out of his pants off and kneeling on the bed to roll it on.

 Oswald worked a generous amount of lubricant in his hands until it was warm. He was glad he had really spent some time in the shower that afternoon before coming into work. Lightly stroking himself with one hand, he worked the other under his sack and probed at his own entrance.

 He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, the finger going in more easily than he expected. The lubricant definitely had a better glide to it than anything he had used before. Biting his lip, he pressed in another finger, working them both in and out before adding a third.

 When he opened his eyes, Ed was hesitantly hovering over him. He had taken off his glasses, and Oswald had an absent thought about how straight his eyebrows were. He pulled Ed into a kiss, soft and almost chaste.

 "I can help you take the dress off, if it's too warm," whispered Ed, his hand stroking up and down Oswald's lace covered arm.

 Oswald could feel sweat beading down his back underneath the fabric. "I assumed you wanted me to keep it on." His voice cracked as he said it, and he hated the raw vulnerability he could hear in his own words.

 Ed made a choked sort of noise. "No. I mean, you don't have to."

 Oswald sat up abruptly and turned his shoulder so Ed could unzip the back. Ed pressed a kiss in between Oswald's shoulder blades as the skin was exposed, the gesture somehow more intimate than anything else they had done up until that point. Oswald shivered, despite the warmth of the room. He let Ed carefully work the dress up and over his head. It ended up draped over one of the bed posts.

 Oswald laid on his back again, the last vestige of his disguise gone, nothing left to hide behind. He fought the urge to cover his face. Ed kneeled between his bent legs, a steady hand on Oswald's chest as if he was feeling the air expand and contract his lungs beneath his rib cage. 

 "You're beautiful," Ed breathed. His eyes were dark and glassy. 

 It was all too much for Oswald, a tenderness he wasn't deserving of. "Please, just...just fuck me."

 Ed nodded wordlessly. Constantly glancing back up to Oswald's face, he used a hand to press the tip of his cock to Oswald's entrance. Oswald widened his legs just slightly, his fingers already clutched in the bed covers to steady himself. He closed his eyes as Ed pushed farther into him, the lack of sight making the other sensations almost stronger. He thought Ed must have been all the way in from how full he felt, but he continued inching in.

 "Is this okay? Are you alright?"

 It's was jarring sight to open his eyes and see Ed on his haunches, half buried in his own body, simultaneously erotic and mortifying. He usually tried not to look at himself when he had been doing anything like this on his own.

 Oswald nodded, unintentionally clenching tightly around Ed. Ed flinched, his mouth making an "o," and Oswald realized it was in pleasure, not pain. He tried to push back against Ed, embarrassed as he struggles to voice his desires. "I want...I want more."

 Dazed, Ed eases in even further, leaning over him. Oswald shifted, drawing his knees up, and the angle became much more comfortable--not just comfortable but  _good._

 "That's...yes," Oswald groaned, gradually adjusting to the stretch. Ed was nearly all the way inside of him. He took that as an invitation to begin to rock into Oswald, just minute jerks of his hips.

 Oswald could hear himself panting, the sound uneven and awkward. He wanted to feel more of Ed against him so he pulled him down by the shoulders. Ed buried his face against his neck again, where he had probably left a smattering of marks earlier with his teeth.

 Oswald wrapped his legs around Ed's waist, as Ed thrusted into him with earnest. He could hear the slick, wet sound of it, even over the loud, pumping baseline from the music below them. "Yes...yes...oh, fuck," he panted into Ed's hair. 

 Without meaning to, he clawed his blunt nails down Ed's back, unknowingly making a cross hatching out of the scars that already ran across it. Ed didn't react, just pulled all the way out and thrusted back into Oswald hard enough to make him see stars. Hot, and thick, and solid inside him, it was worlds away from anything Oswald had ever done on his own. 

 Ed suddenly slowed. Oswald let out a reedy whine of frustration. "Why are you-"

 "I just realized," said Ed, in between short, gasping breaths, "I don't know your name."

 "What?" Oswald spluttered. It took him a half a second to even remember it. "Oswald! It's Oswald," he pleaded desperately, "Now please, for the love of God, Ed-" He rutted up against him to make his point. 

 Ed kissed him as they quickly regained their earlier rhythm. Knowing how close he was, Oswald worked a hand in between them, stroking himself with vigor, his other hand clutched knuckle-white in Ed's hair. The pressure building low in his stomach was so good it was almost painful. Desperately trying to work himself towards the edge, it was Ed murmuring his name hoarsely in his ear that finally pushed him over. He could feel himself shuttering and spasming, coming in wet stripes against Ed's chest just seconds before Ed pulsed inside him, gasping as he rode out his own climax.

 Ed practically collapsed on top of him afterwards, both of them trying to catch their breath. Oswald realized how sweaty they both were, but he wasn't as bothered by it as he would have thought. Suddenly he wondered where they went from this point, how to extract himself from the situation. He thought about how different the moment might have been if he had met Ed any other way, if Ed had properly dated him, wined and dined him and finally brought Oswald back to his apartment, instead of them having a frenzied first time upstairs at a Halloween party, of all places. 

 Eventually, Ed pushed himself up on his hands, easing out of Oswald, his eyes steadily avoiding Oswald's face. 

 "I should probably, um..." He got up, tied off the condom and searched the room for a trash bin to dispose of it.

 Oswald wished that he could lay there for eternity in a post-coital haze, but instead he got up and starting gathering his clothes in his hands. He was uncomfortably aware of the wet trickle of lubricant that ran down his thigh as he bent over to pick up the wig. He looked over his shoulder and saw Ed curiously watching him. He looked pale and thin, still nude in the near darkness--as vulnerable as Oswald felt.

 Oswald pursed his lips. "Thank you for the lovely evening. Now I think you should get dressed," he said, forcing himself to sound curt. He strode the few steps in to the room's adjoining bathroom and shut the door behind him, trying not to think about the expression on Ed's face.

 He cleaned himself up the best he could, given the circumstances, and put his dress back on. It wasn't long until he heard the outer door open and close--Ed had left.

 He fixed his wig in the mirror, doing his best wipe at where his make up was smudged, before stepping back into the main room. He toed on the short heels that Ed had left neatly side-by-side when he had pulled them off. Oswald sat down on the edge of the bed and felt the strange threat of tears coming to his eyes, despite the fact that he had gotten what he wanted, and what they had done together had felt so good. He blinked back the tears; he couldn't ruin his make up.

 

It was November seventh, a week after the party, when Ed found himself in front of Oswald's door. He raised his hand to knock, but stopped to adjust his tie and straighten his cardigan before rapping his knuckles on the polished wood.

 Unexpectedly, a woman answered it--only opening the door as far as the chain lock would allow. She squinted suspiciously at him through the gap. "Yes?"

 He coughed awkwardly into his fist. "I'm sorry ma'am, I think I must have the wrong apartment number. Do you know if a man named Oswald lives on this-"

 "Oswald?" she asked accusingly, some kind of European accent lacing her words, "What do you want with my son?"

 He blinked. "I'm a friend of his."

 Going by the expression on her face, Oswald didn't have many friends, or certainly not many who came to call at their apartment. If it was possible, she looked even more surprised when she noticed the bouquet of purple tulips clutched tightly in his hand. 

 Her face softened. "Are those for him?"

 Ed nodded, trying not to look guilty about it. "He, um, mentioned he was feel a little under the weather, and I thought it'd be...a nice sort of friendly gesture. Is he here right now?" He could easily see over her head, into an unoccupied sitting room.

 She shut the door and Ed was too taken aback to move, until she opened it again, wider this time, having disengaged the chain lock.

 "Oswald never tells me about his friends!" she exclaimed admonishingly. "He is at the store right now picking up things, but lunch will be ready when he returns." She ushered him inside, "Please, you will eat with us. I want to know all about Oswald's little friend."

 "Okay," he said, though he doubted he really had a choice in the matter. The apartment was crowded with velvet-covered furniture, baubles, trinkets, and doilies, all smelling strongly of perfume. It was almost overwhelming.

 She took the flowers from him and put them in a pitcher on the kitchen table. They somehow fit perfectly in the space's rustic atmosphere.

 "Ah, so pretty they look," she crooned, "Tell me, what is your name?"

 "Edward, ma'am. Edward Nygma." He looked down at his feet and wondered if he should take off his loafers.

 "Edward," she repeated, the syllables sharp and lilting on her tongue. "You must call me Gertrud," she insisted, patting him on the arm. "Please, sit, while I am cooking you must tell me all about how you have come to be knowing my son."

 He sat down obediently. "May I ask what you're making?"

 "Mushroom soup," she told him as she got a large pot out of a cupboard. 

 "Could I help?"

 "Oh...no, no, you are a guest."

 "Please, I insist. I like cooking." He shrugged out of his cardigan, and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. 

 After some half-hearted protest, she relegated him to slicing mushrooms as she chopped an onion nearby. Ed thought she actually looked quite pleased. 

 As she poured ingredients into the simmering pot, he related to her a brief background that he had just now concocted, that he would sometimes come to Fish's club after work to hear a pianist perform, or perhaps one of the comedians on Wednesday nights, and that he and Oswald had simply struck up a conversation. In this version of events, he and Oswald had known each other for a few months. 

 She hung on his every word, evidently curious about her son's (fictional) personal life. She even laughed when he asked her a riddle, guessing incorrectly but still guessing all the same.

 Meanwhile, he observed her as she worked. If Oswald had been guised as an alluring, mysterious witch at the party, his mother was the older, kindly counterpart, like something from a cleaned-up Brothers Grimm tale that still had a slight edge to it. Even the soup could have been a boiling witch's cauldron, his mind imaginatively supplied. Either way, she added a very generous amount of paprika to its contents.

 When all that was left was for the soup to simmer, she gave him a french loaf of bread and a serrated knife to cut it.

 "You have eyes just like him," he absently observed, as she leaned towards him to observe his progress. They were pale like sea glass, framed with long lashes.

 She preened under the comment. "Oswald is a very, very handsome young man. Just like his father was. But, like you have said, his eyes are from his mother."

 Thinking of his own parents, Ed couldn't help but feel envious of how adoringly she spoke of her son.

 "Ah, I have to get one thing. I will be right back." She patted him again on the arm before she shuffled into the next room. A pleasant warmth settled in his chest.

 He jerked his head as he heard the click of a key in the latch from the other room. Oswald rounded the corner, a brown paper grocery bag in hand, which he promptly dropped to the floor the moment he saw Ed. A tomato rolled across the kitchen floor, but neither of them looked at it.

 "What are you doing in my apartment?" he yelped, more shocked than angry. Ed probably painted quite an odd picture, stirring the soup on the stove while wearing Gertrud's apron.

 "I-" Ed stammered.

 Gertrud reappeared, a bundle of cloth napkins in her hand. Taking in the scene she immediately reprimanded her son. "Oswald! There had better not be eggs in that bag!" She tsked. "How wasteful that would be," she murmured under her breath. "Your friend Edward has stopped by, and brought such nice flowers."

 She crossed the room, and put the back of her hand on his forehead. "You did not tell me you were feeling ill. You don't feel warm."

Over her shoulder, Ed tried to flash Oswald the most apologetic look he could muster.

 "Well, I'm fine now," Oswald said flatly. 

 She pushed the cloth napkins into his hands. "Good. Set the table, lunch is ready now. I will take care of this."

 Setting the grocery bag on the counter, she returned to Ed's side and helped him to untie and shed the apron before dismissing him to sit at the table. She bustled out of the room, seemingly to get something else.

 Ed sat down as Oswald laid out silverware for three people, staring accusingly at Ed all the while. 

 "I'm sorry," Ed pleaded in a hushed tone, "I didn't know you lived with your mom. She invited me in and I couldn't refuse."

 "How do you even know where I live?"

 "I went back to the club, and you weren't there. I asked Miss Mooney how I could reach you."

 "Fish," Oswald muttered under his breath, gritting his teeth.

 Ed steeled himself to say what he had planned to tell Oswald. "Maybe the other night didn't mean anything for you, and that's okay if it didn't, but...it meant a lot for me. And I really like you, and I just wanted to see you again. But I'll leave, if you want...it was probably stupid of me to even come..."

 Oswald gaped at him, an uncertainty on his face that Ed hadn't seen before.

 Gertrud returned again, and ladled soup into the bowls that Oswald had laid out. "Oh! I will put a record on the phonograph. Won't that be nice?"

"We so rarely have guests..." she muttered to herself as she crossed into the sitting room.

 "What did you tell her, exactly?" Oswald whispered, leaning in close to Ed. 

 "That we're friends, that we met at your work a while ago. I certainly didn't tell her that we had-" Oswald clapped a hand over his mouth before he could finish the sentence.

 Seeing Gertrude, he hurriedly drew his hand back. Ed wondered how much she had seen. From a certain angle, it could have looked more like an aborted caress.

 "The soup smells really good, Mom," said Oswald.

 She beamed innocently at the both of them. "I did have some help."

 The lunch went over better than Ed had expected. Gertrud had chatted animatedly to the both of them, and Ed even noticed Oswald smiling, not just as his mother but even at him, usually when he was looking away. 

 Ed watch Oswald as he methodically teared off pieces of bread and dipped them in his soup. He was wearing a crisp three-piece suit and had his dark, feathery hair styled with gel. As different as he looked from the night of the party, Ed thought he was still stunning. Maybe even more so. Oswald caught his eye as Gertrud regaled them with another mildly embarrassing story from Oswald's youth, looking at him curiously. 

 Gertrud had let Ed help cook, but when they were finished she insisted that she clean up. Not wanting to overstay his welcome, Ed made some polite excuse to leave. Before he could escape, Gertrud ambushed him with a tight, motherly hug. His arms fluttered awkwardly at his sides before he returned the hug, gently patting her on the back.

 "Oswald, be a good boy and walk your friend to the door," she prompted her son, before starting on the dishes.

 Out of her sight, Oswald nearly dragged Ed out into the apartment building's hallway, shutting the door behind them.

 "Oswald, I'm sorry that-"

 Oswald cut him off with a kiss, pressing him back up against the door.

 "Oh," was all Ed could manage when they pulled apart, his eyes as wide as saucers.

 Oswald untangled his fingers from Ed's cardigan. "I...I like you too."

 "Really?"

 "Do you have a cell phone? I want to give you my number so you don't just show up here out of the blue."

 Ed nodded excitedly, pulling his phone from his pocket to hand it to Oswald. As Oswald dialed in his number, Ed remembered what he had originally planned to say when he came here.

 "So, there's this new exhibit that opens at the Gotham Art Museum next weekend and I was wondering-"

 "Yes." Oswald slipped the phone back into Ed's front pocket, his hand lingering there. Ed's breath hitched in his throat.

 His hands drifted up to adjust Ed's tie. "Didn't you say you had some errands to run?"

 "Mmh hm." He broke away, reluctant to leave. "Tell your mom 'thank you' again, for lunch."

 "I will," said Oswald, with a hand on his hip. 

 Feeling brave, Ed leaned down and pressed a quick to Oswald's cheek before leaving.

"I'll call you!" he said over his shoulder.

 "I'm counting on it!" said Oswald, before he rounded the corner to the stairwell.

 

Oswald watched him disappear from view, before he opened the door. He caught Gertrud stumbling back a few feet away from it.

"Mom!" he shrieked, "were you listening at the door?"

 "No, no,  _kedvesem,_ how could you think such a thing?" She shook her head. "That Edward," she said, changing the subject, "such a nice boy."

 "Mom..." He realized belatedly that she might have been looking through the peephole as well.

 She put her hands on her hips, "And here I am thinking that you have been running off with some painted tart..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think realistically it would probably take Getrud a little longer to warm up to Ed, and that she might be more suspicious based on his job, but I wanted to give them a soft, happy ending...
> 
>  
> 
> "Kedvesem" is "my dear" in Hungarian...or at least according to google.


End file.
